reaching.

[rewiiired]

Reaching down into me,
pulling up things that
seek their reckoning,
do you even know
what you're doing?

I close my eyes, cover my ears,
you just appear and speak to me
of futilities and other ghastly things.

Must we poison the roots
from which we've grown?
Can I make it through the
swamp again all alone?

Is there another message
here I could be missing?
There's a vacancy within;
a knot in me is twisting.

Reaching down into you,
I pull up things forever
thirsty and begging,

but the cantine's got a drop left
and I don't know how
closer we're getting

to the infinite blue seas that
can quench and fully satisfy me.
I want to share as we ride
splitting hairs but I'm dehydrating,

but I want you
to ride with me,

so why don't you
reach down into you,
and come up with
something?

 

[Cosmic Mist]

This coudl be about so many different things. I can hear longing and distaste in this poem, but it sounds as though you at least know what you want. It's never a bad thing to reach inside and pull soemthing out - it's all about self discovery.